they’re the financiers?”
“There’s always that possibility,” Sammy agreed. “We tried to snare them both in a UC operation, but Slater was too smart. Our undercover operator spent three months befriending him. Then he was with Slater in a nightclub one night and Slater, being the asshole he is, laughed and said he appreciated the RCMP buying him all these drinks.”
“Who was the operator?”
“Ken Hales, out of Calgary.”
“I’ve worked with him. He’s a hell of a good operator,” Jack commented.
“Yeah, I know.”
“Maybe the Mexicans tipped Slater off after the LO made inquiries.”
“Possibly.”
“No problem then if I take a look at Porter and perhaps Slater?” asked Jack.
“Fill your boots,” replied Sammy. “Neither are on our target list. Like I said, someone forgot to remove them from CPIC. We’ve had to reprioritize. Known gang members who are killing each other off are our number-one concern.”
Adams crossed the Bridge of the Americas and was waved through customs. He had not bothered to go to the office and get a car, instead opting to use his own car. Time was of the essence. He had little hope that his office, currently going through channels with the American ambassador in Mexico City, would have any luck in getting Patton back alive.
The four FBI agents had agreed to stay in Juarez to assist … providing assistance was still possible. That hope lay in the person Adams was going to meet.
Adams cursed and glanced at his watch. The minutes were ticking past and he accelerated along cluttered narrow streets to get to one particular back alley.
chapter five
Rubalcava saw the questioning glances of his men as he hurried to leave the office. As a commander, he was normally at his desk all day, except for three o’clock in the afternoon, when he went to pick his children up from school. Picking them up was more than a safety issue. Seeing the bright happy faces of his two sons gave him hope. Hope that someday the future of the Mexican people would also brighten. He had sworn he would do what he could to make that possible.
“Commander?” the secretary asked, while glancing at her watch. “It is only two o’clock.”
“I know. I have to meet an old friend,” he replied.
Like Adams, Rubalcava drove at high speed with a constant eye in his rear-view mirror. Even though he was satisfied he wasn’t being followed, he still parked his car two blocks away from his destination. From there he cautiously made his way toward the alley on foot, while still taking the time to dart into a couple of shops along the way to see who might enter behind him.
Rubalcava knew if he were seen secretly meeting a gringo there would be serious questions. If the gringo was identified as a U.S. Customs agent, he knew any lie he could come up with would likely not be accepted and would result in his execution. He also knew Adams realized the danger. What has happened?
Adams sat low in his seat as he slowly drove down the alley in his white Celica. His windshield was tinted, making it difficult for people to see in, but the other windows were clear. There were few gringos in this part of the city, but it was also an area not known to be of interest to the cartels. Rubalcava stepped out from an alcove and Adams unlocked the passenger door.
“Amigo,” said Rubalcava with a worried smile on his face as he got in the car. “It is always good to see you.” As usual, Rubalcava made no comment about the extreme risk in which Adams had placed him and instead treated their meeting like a friend who was happy to see him.
Adams didn’t take the time to exchange niceties. The words tumbled out of him as if he were an auctioneer.
Rubalcava’s face darkened. “This house, with the Mercedes that your partner followed. Which cartel did they belong to? Guajardo or Sinaloa?”
“I don’t know. We were still trying to find out. An anonymous phone call complained of lots of men coming and going at all hours of the day and night. Lots of souped-up cars being driven by Mexicans who look like gangsters. Greg and I spent the last couple of nights trying to identify who they were.”
“I do not have much that could help you if it was the Sinaloa cartel, but if it was the Guajardo … it could explain why some men in my office were whispering and smiling about something an hour ago.”
Adams checked his watch. “It was an hour and twenty-five minutes ago when Greg was grabbed. Maybe they heard the news. It fits. Would Rafael Guajardo be directly involved? If we locate him —”
“No, he would not risk being involved. Besides, Guajardo has been meeting some other drug lords in Cancun this last week. He has not returned yet and may not even know about it. The two jackals he left in charge, Vicente Carrillo Fuentes or his brother, Amado Carrillo Fuentes, could have okayed and planned the kidnapping on their own. Even then, they would have turned it over to someone else to complete. Do you know what colour the Mercedes is?”
“Green. Why?”
“Now it is coming together in my mind. Below the Carrillo Fuentes brothers, there are three lower bosses, who also happen to be brothers. One of them, a big fat man by the name of Chico, drives a green Mercedes. Chico controls much of the prostitution and collects money from the pimps who work for him. He often goes into El Paso to collect money from pimps who operate out of some strip bar. The Red something.”
“The Red Poker Saloon?” asked Adams.
“Yes, that is it. You know the place?”
“I’ve been there. It’s full of pimps, drug dealers, bikers, you get the picture. Does Chico control a particular police station here in Juarez?”
“Not him, directly … but of course the Guajardo cartel controls many,” replied Rubalcava.
“Do you think the police who grabbed Greg would take him back to their station?”
“Possibly. If they don’t intend to keep him alive long they might take him there. If they plan on torturing him over a period of a few days they would take him to some place more remote. Probably outside the city.”
Adams winced. “What police station would you suspect the most?”
“If he was taken to a police station, I think it would be one of two. Both are small and in outlying areas. The captains in both stations, along with their men, are firmly in the pockets of the Guajardo cartel.”
“I’ve got a map of Juarez in the glove box. Dig it out and show me where the stations are.”
Rubalcava spoke as he unfolded the map. “The first station is on the northwest side of the city. The police at that station specialize in kidnapping people for ransom. I believe there are about two-dozen policemen who work out of that office.”
“So they are experienced at snatching people,” noted Adams. “Sounds like it could be them.”
“Perhaps … although they do not use marked
